A Taste of Home
by AoiGensou
Summary: Yashiro has moved to Tokyo for college. An unexpected package lifts his spirits while he's unpacking. Written for the Deathmatch team battle on Dreamwidth.


Yashiro Kiyoharu sat in the middle of a mountain of boxes. He'd technically been moved into his new apartment in Tokyo for two weeks, but he hadn't gotten around to actually unpacking yet. There was something so final about emptying the boxes and arranging his belongings on the as-yet empty furniture. If he did that, then he was acknowledging that he really had left home, and was starting his own life. One where he no longer had to answer to his parents about what he spent his time on; one where he was his own man.

It didn't mean he didn't still crave their approval, though.

That was why he was in Tokyo. He had gotten into a first rate university - Kokushikan, in Setagaya - and was going to study political science. It was something he knew his parents could respect, and be proud of him for, even if they couldn't understand his relationship with Go. He had made a sort of peace with that thought in the past few years, at the fact that his parents were unhappy with his chosen profession, but the allure of approval was a strong motivator. He would be busy between his professional games and his classes, but he would do it, and make his father proud of him, no matter what.

Sighing, Kiyoharu ripped open the box closest to him, finding his goban and go stones packed carefully within. He pulled out one of the goke, letting his fingers sift through the white stones before setting it aside and standing to pull the goban out. It was a cheap one; he had saved his allowance for months in order to buy it for himself since his parents wouldn't get one for him. It had been so satisfying, though, being able to set it up in his room, and had been worth the comments his parents had made about it taking up space and time best used for other things.

After the first Hokutohai those comments had lessened somewhat, but his father's feelings about his decision to follow the path of the pros had not changed. And even though his arrangement with his parents only involved him finishing high school, he knew it would make them happy if he finished college as well.

Kicking the box aside, Kiyoharu ran a hand through his wild hair, willing the rest of the boxes to unpack themselves. When they didn't, he groaned and grabbed his keys. He was sick of being cooped up in the cluttered apartment, and needed some air. Perhaps he could give Shindou a call and tell him to meet him at Touya's Go salon for a game or two. Since he'd transferred to the Tokyo Ki'in, he'd been seeing a lot more of Shindou, and it was nice to have a familiar face around to alleviate the inevitable homesickness he felt. He checked his pockets for his mobile phone, and locked the door behind him, taking the stairs down to the lobby of the apartment building. As he made his way to the double doors of the entrance, he passed a bank of mailboxes, his footsteps slowing.

He'd only been there for two weeks so few people had his address, but he figured he might as well check. Bills, after all, had a way of finding their intended recipient with alarming efficiency.

The keys on his keychain clanked softly against the metal of the mailbox as he opened the door, reaching in and finding a bulky manila envelope beneath two smaller innocuous-looking white envelopes that screamed 'bill'. Curiously, he turned the envelope over to look at the return address as he shoved the two bills into his back pocket to look at later. Kiyoharu's eyebrows raised as he saw his home address on there; apparently his mother had sent him something.

One of his fellow residents passed him as he distractedly walked back to the stairs to sit down; he only barely registered their presence as they murmured polite greetings on their way up to their own apartment. His brow furrowed, Kiyoharu tore open the envelope and found a spiral notebook inside.

"What...?" he murmured to himself as he flipped it open, finding his mother's neat handwriting lining the pages of the notebook. He flipped through the first few pages, finding what looked like recipes for his favorite meals written with painstaking care and detail. He had never had to cook for himself before, but he had been planning on just eating out whenever he couldn't catch a meal with Shindou's family since apparently he had a standing invitation to dinner whenever he wanted.

Flipping back to the first page, he noticed a note on the front cover of the notebook in his mother's handwriting as well.

_Kiyoharu,_

_I know you don't cook but you really need to start. Restaurants are expensive and convenience store food has too much salt to be healthy. Call me if you need help with anything._

_-Mom_

Kiyoharu quirked a half smile at the note; apparently his mother knew him better than he realized. It was kind of a nice feeling, knowing that his mother was worried about his health. He knew from experience that Shindou's first reaction would be one of annoyance at his mother's interference, but Shindou always had his mother's support so he had the luxury of being annoyed at it. That always annoyed Kiyoharu a bit, and the next time he saw Shindou he thought he'd needle him about it a bit. After all, riling up Shindou was obscenely fun to do.

He turned a few more pages of the notebook, looking over the sometimes overly-detailed instructions - he knew how to boil a pot of water, thank you - and appreciating the time it took to break a recipe down even further into the smaller steps it took to accomplish each step involved.

When he got to the end of the notebook, Kiyoharu was about to shut it and take it upstairs, when a folded sheet of copy paper tucked in back caught his eye. Curious, he pulled it out and unfolded it. The handwriting was small and cramped, definitely not his mother's. It was a recipe for bolognese sauce, and with a start, he recognized his father's handwriting. It wasn't a detailed recipe the way his mother's were, and Kiyoharu was confused for a moment before he realized that this recipe was what his father had called his 'specialty' when he was growing up. In the stories his mother had told him in her more sentimental moments of how his father had courted her, that bolognese sauce had played an important role in an otherwise disastrous date.

On the bottom of the page, Kiyoharu noticed a note, much like the one his mother left him. The contents were different, though, and left him brushing away tears he would later blame on the dustiness of the stairs. Apparently, though, the approval he had been craving wasn't as far away as he had always feared.

_I'm proud of you. Good luck in your next game._


End file.
